


A Study in Games

by ineptshieldmaid



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Awkward First Times, M/M, a case study in yuri's developing dominess, handjobs, this fic does not contain any of viktor kneeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: Viktor’s playing games with him, Yuri knows it. He’s still not sure what the win condition is - well, other than the Grand Prix, but surely that can’t be all there is to it. The thing is, he’s starting to see himself as a partner in the game, whatever it is, rather than the target.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is trying to Work Something Out; I don't know if I'm done with the something yet, but here, a fic! 
> 
> Timeline covers episodes 5-9; implicit information canon-compliant to episode 11.
> 
> The endnotes contain the Cautious People's Content Notes and caveats.

Viktor pulls Yuri into an awkward sort of hug, the rink barrier between them, and Yuri lets himself enjoy it, for once. Here, with goodness knows how many eyes on them, no one can expect him to do anything, to be anything, except what he came here to do and be. Another man would’ve taken Viktor to bed ages ago, when he first showed up in Hasetsu, let himself be seduced - but at the expense, perhaps, of Viktor’s voice in his ear now, the low-voiced command to ‘seduce me with all you have’.

No, that’s not right. It’s not a command. It’s a platform, it’s Viktor building a stage for Yuri to step onto it. It’s not an order, it’s a move. It reminds him of nothing so much as modern dance classes, when Yuko was a few years ahead of him but determined that he dance lead, and she’d coax him into the steps and had to threaten to tread on his toes before he’d dip or twirl her properly. 

This is, to be perfectly clear, the only way in which Viktor is at all like Yuko. The point is, Yuri learned to dance with her not when he learned the steps, but when he learned to play the part, to move and think like the leading man the dance needed.

Viktor’s playing games with him, Yuri knows it. He’s still not sure what the win condition is - well, other than the Grand Prix, but surely that can’t be all there is to it. The thing is, he’s starting to see himself as a partner in the game, whatever it is, rather than the target.

There’s no game for the free skate, no ‘seduce me’ and no pork cutlet bowls. At the edge of the rink, Yuri finds himself momentarily at a loss, but there’s still Viktor’s eyes on him, taking in the detail of his costume. 

‘Your lips,’ Viktor says, ‘they’re chapped...’ He fishes out lip balm, and he doesn’t just hand it to Yuri; he applies it himself, with the pad of one finger. Yuri could very easily take a step further with this: nip at the skin, or kiss it, or…

He doesn’t, not there and not then. But later, when he’s stripped out of his costume and back into his training gear, the thrill is still running through him. The competition; the fact he had _fun_ , the weight of Viktor’s eyes on him.

‘You set?’ Viktor says, as Yuri shoves his costume into his case.

‘Nearly.’ Yuri hesitates, and then adds, ‘What did you do with that lip stuff?’

‘This?’ Viktor holds it out. Yuri takes it off him, still not quite sure, and swipes his own finger over it.

‘Your lips,’ Yuri says, stepping into Viktor’s space a little. ‘They’re…’ He doesn’t have to finish the sentence; Viktor’s eyes widen, but he leans in a little as Yuri repeats his own movements from earlier, smearing the stuff on Viktor’s lips in turn. 

Viktor has really very nice lips. Not that Yuri has many other lips to compare them to, aside from visually, but -

And Viktor’s nowhere near as hesitant about, well, anything, as Yuri is. He flicks his tongue gently against the pad of Yuri’s finger, and then - instead of sucking on said finger, which is what Yuri would have done had he the courage - he grabs Yuri’s hand and kisses his wrist. And then his knuckles.

‘You’re ridiculous,’ Yuri says, laughing up at him. 

‘You just have that effect on me,’ Viktor says. For a few stolen seconds Yuri believes that, and it goes right to his head. It lasts long enough for him to think of actually _kissing_ Viktor, but his common sense comes back too quickly. Not that he actually thinks Viktor would mind kissing: all signs point to ‘Viktor would enjoy kissing, especially if it came with sex’. It just. That would be less dancing, and more a headlong fall into a chasm of abysmal embarrassment and potential disaster.

* * *

Viktor meets him at the station after the presscon. Yuri wouldn’t let him come along; he’d wanted to, but Yuri had insisted that he’d done it alone last year and he’d be fine. He had done it alone last year - Celestino had been in Detroit, and Yuri had managed to wedge the presscon in between frantic efforts to finalise a bunch of classwork before flying back to the States for intensive training. That’s not really why he didn’t want Viktor there. Viktor thought it was because his presence might overshadow Yuri, which was true, but only a tiny part of it. Yuri was afraid that if he talked about love with Vikor right there in the room, everyone would read it on his face - how incredibly vulnerable he is, how dependant on one man right now.

Of course, then he went and said all the stuff about Viktor anyway, about love being neither only platonic nor only romantic. He was terribly nervous, and he always runs off at the mouth when he’s nervous, but afterward, it seemed like he’d managed to articulate something he’s been struggling with ever since Onsen On Ice. He doesn’t want Viktor to be a lover to him - not if it means losing all the other things: not just his coach but the idol he’s worshipped for years, and the friend he’s starting to make, and the other half of this strange push-pull game. He doesn’t want Viktor to be _only_ anything.

When he sees Viktor at Hasetsu station, Makkachin in tow, Yuri’s afraid: afraid that whoever translated for him got it wrong, or worse, got it _right_. But Viktor doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around Yuri’s shoulders and matches their strides together.

The next morning, Yuri skates _Eros_ in practice, in the run-down old rink where he first learned turns and jumps. Viktor watches him from the side of the rink, skates on and ready to go through figures by his side, over and over again. Yuri did well today; something he hadn’t quite mastered was there in the routine, and when he strikes the finishing pose Viktor is staring at him with that rapt fascination that makes Yuri feel like he could do literally _anything_.

Today, anything is crooking his fingers, beckoning Viktor into the centre of the rink. He comes, like the man seduced he’s supposed to be. It’s a game, Yuri tells himself, a game they’re playing, a game that’s giving him more and more material to work with in his routines.

‘Yes?’ Viktor says, coming to a stop in front of Yuri. 

It would be a lot easier, Yuri thinks, if Viktor would just kiss him. But that’s not how the game goes; it’s not Viktor’s job to seduce _him_. 

Or maybe it is. Yuri reaches out, touches the side of Viktor’s face, and Viktor turns into it, pressing his lips to Yuri’s palm. He nips at the skin very gently with his teeth.

‘Tease,’ Yuri says.

‘Me?’ Viktor grins at him, bright and sparkling. ‘I’m utterly in earnest.’

* * *

‘The time to seduce me by imagining pork cutlet bowls and women is over,’ Viktor says to him, in China. ‘You can fight with your own personal charm. You can envision it just fine, can’t you?’

At this point, Yuri’s not sure who’s supposed to be seducing whom, but he can envision it, and he knows with sudden clarity exactly what it is he needs to sustain the vision.

‘Don’t ever take your eyes off me,’ he says, to Viktor, and Viktor, glorious, wonderful Viktor, doesn’t. 

Afterwards, of course, the reality of the situation starts to crash down on him: Yuri’s done well, yes, but now he has to live up to that; and the others are all good, all perfectly capable of overtaking him - tomorrow, if not today.

Yuri looks up from lacing his trainers and finds Viktor’s watching him again, or still. 

‘Hey, you’re allowed to stop looking at me now,’ Yuri says. He cringes internally: it’s not as if Viktor has been staring at him dead on since he stepped onto the ice. That would be very, very weird.

‘Do you _want_ me to stop looking at you now?’ Viktor asks. They’re in a dressing room; there are people coming and going in the corridor and the warm-up rooms, but it’s relatively private in here. Viktor’s looking at him in that way that Yuri really wants him to never look at anyone else ever again, and for a while, everything he’s afraid of, about tomorrow and about Russia and the Final and just… everything, it all seems less important.

‘No, not really,’ Yuri says. He doesn’t smile; he’s too busy being certain of what he’s doing, for once. He holds out a hand. Viktor comes, without Yuri having to say anything, and Yuri stands up to meet him and kisses him. 

It’s not… well. No sooner has Yuri done it than he’s convinced he’s done it wrong. He has kissed people before, or rather, been kissed by people before, and as far as he knows there’s no actual way of making first kisses not weird. This one’s fairly weird. Viktor freezes, arms spread a little too wide. He’d been meaning to hug Yuri, Yuri realises, not kiss him. He’s still looking at Yuri, but now with an expression of surprise.

‘Crap,’ Yuri says. Aloud, because he’s a master of dignity. ‘Viktor, I’m sorry, I thought…’

Viktor shuts him up with a finger to his lips. ‘Why on earth would you be sorry?’ he asks. Yuri doesn’t have an answer. He’s got a long list of ways this was a terrible idea, though: as if he didn’t have enough to live up to already today.

‘I might be freaking out,’ he says, voice pitched too high. ‘I just wanted…’

Viktor’s hands have closed around Yuri’s upper arms now, and he leans in to press a kiss over Yuri’s nonsense babbling. It’s less weird than the previous one, at least. When Viktor breaks the kiss this time, he pulls Yuri closer, tucks him up against Viktor’s chest and wraps his arms around him. 

‘Any time you think kissing will help with freaking out,’ Viktor says, ‘you let me know.’

Yuri doesn’t answer, caught as he is between the impulse to die of embarrassment and the desire to cling on to Viktor very tightly and never let go.

* * *

They survive the press gauntlet and the medals and the press again. They survive dinner with Phichit and Christophe, both of whom, to Yuri’s surprise, keep their inappropriate and/or inquisitive comments to a bare minimum. Yuri knows perfectly well his phone is filling up with texts from home, and he is stubbornly resolved not to look at any of them, at least not until he’s survived the exhibition tomorrow.

Phichit seems pretty chill about the exhibition - normal skaters are, Yuri reminds himself, because there’s literally nothing riding on it and no reason to panic, seriously - and Christophe seems to be treating it as the true purpose of competing in the first place. Apparently he’s got something risqué planned. As if his competitive programs weren’t enough in that department.

‘You’re not going to calm down until after the gala, are you?’ Viktor says, as Yuri fumbles his door key. 

‘Nope.’ If Viktor’s got a problem with that, Yuri thinks, he can go have a problem in his own room.

‘Will you let me distract you?’ Viktor follows him into his room. This sounds like simultaneously the best and most terrifying proposition Yuri’s heard since ‘I’m your coach now’.

‘Viktor, you know I…’ Yuri turns and Viktor’s looking at him again. Not with quite the same transfixed expression Yuri works so hard to draw on the ice, but steady, patient. He’s changed a lot, Yuri realises; or Yuri sees more of this side of him and less of the whirlwind who turned up trying to seduce and coach him at once, with time. ‘Skating’s one thing,’ he says, falling over the words, ‘but it’s a dance, a show, I can’t…’ I can’t be that person all the time, he thinks.

‘I’m not asking you to seduce me now,’ Viktor says. ‘Just… let me kiss you again?’

Maybe Yuri agrees because he does, very much, want Viktor to kiss him; maybe it’s because Viktor sounds genuinely hopeful, like he’s not sure Yuri’s going to agree but he really has to ask.

Viktor kisses him carefully, thoroughly, holding Yuri’s face in both hands. Yuri worries, for about twenty seconds, about what to do with his hands, his feet, his brain: but being kissed by Viktor is actually as good a distraction as you’d expect, and it rapidly becomes impossible to think about anything else.

At some point, Yuri pulls away to breathe, tucks his face into Viktor’s shoulder, and takes stock. He’s got his hands looped through Viktor’s beltloops, and Viktor’s palms are spread flat against his back, warm and steadying. Viktor doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cessation of kissing; instead, he’s nuzzling gently into Yuri’s hair, and muttering fragments of praise in a voice so low Yuri can barely hear it. Apparently Yuri’s amazing and beautiful and Viktor could watch him forever, which is obviously an exaggeration but a nice one to hear, all the same.

‘Do I get kissed every time I do well, then?’ Yuri asks, pulling back to look at Viktor properly. 

‘I think so, yes,’ Viktor says, mock-serious. ‘And in between times, if you need distraction.’

There are worse conditions to work under, Yuri thinks.

* * *

‘In between times’ turns out to mean ‘quite a lot, tomorrow’. Yuri suspects Viktor’s never left a banquet so early in his life. Yuri has, of course; he leaves them all as early as possible. Usually he has less interesting things to do afterward than kiss Viktor Nikiforov, though.

‘You don’t have to…’ Viktor says, as Yuri gets Viktor’s trousers unfastened.

‘Shut up,’ Yuri says, and reaches past the trousers to cup his hand around Viktor’s dick, which twitches gratifyingly in response. He’s only going to be able to go through with this, any of this, if Viktor doesn’t insist on treating him like he’s fragile. Kissing him seems like a good way to keep the noble-minded commentary to a minimum, so Yuri does that. Viktor seems quite willing to be pushed back onto the bed and let Yuri grope him, which is nice. Yuri tries not to drool too obviously, that would probably be undignified. Mind you, so are the noises Viktor makes when Yuri flicks experimentally at one of his nipples, so maybe undignified is the order of the day.

‘Yuri,’ Viktor mutters, into Yuri’s mouth. ‘Yuri, you… let me…’

Finding himself rolled over flat on his back with Viktor pinning him down isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to Yuri today (that was falling flat on his face on stepping out of the rink after warm-up time). It’s a contender for the very best thing, in fact, but he still freaks out a little when, a few moments into further making out, he realises he’s automatically arching up into Viktor’s body and pulling him down closer by the hips.

‘Can I..’ Viktor has the fingers of one hand in the buttons of Yuri’s shirt, and is hesitating over them. He’s not wearing any shirt himself, mind; Yuri got rid of that before they even made it to the bed.

Yuri makes short work of his own shirt, and then realises Viktor’s staring at him. With exactly the same expression he has on when Yuri’s skating _Eros_ , which has to mean he’s doing something right. 

‘You’re…’ Viktor gives up, and kisses him again. Yuri takes the opportunity while Viktor’s hands are occupied, holding himself up and buried in Yuri’s hair respectively, to try tweaking both of Viktor’s nipples at once, which… wow. Okay. That’s effective. There’s no question about whether Viktor’s into this, which is just as well, because the only thing keeping Yuri from dying of embarrassment about how hard he is and how obvious it must be is that he’s not the only one. 

‘Okay,’ Viktor says, into the skin of Yuri’s neck. ‘Okay. I didn’t expect…’

‘What?’ Yuri goes all tense, too quick and too obvious, but he can’t help it. 

‘This is all a bit… fast,’ Viktor says. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Fast?’ Yuri pokes him in the side, and the tension dissipates a bit when Viktor yelps and squirms away. ‘It’s been what, seven months?’

This is a bit of a risky overstatement, claiming all of the time Viktor’s been his coach as leading up to this. But Viktor doesn’t complain, only laughs and presses kisses into Yuri’s collarbone. Yuri sneaks his hand down the back of Viktor’s trousers and briefs both, relishes the shudder that goes right through Viktor when he squeezes his ass gently.

‘Okay, okay, but we have to talk about this.’ Viktor levers himself up a bit so he can look into Yuri’s face. ‘We’re not doing anything you’re not ready for, okay?’

‘Got that,’ Yuri says. It’s sort of reassuring, but then this also raises a whole bunch of other questions, like what if he isn’t ready but wants anyway? 

‘Good.’ Viktor looks like he wants to leave the conversation at that, and Yuri really wishes he would. But no; he ploughs on. Very responsible of him. Very tedious. Very not getting either of their pants off right now. ‘And, and I want you to know there’s lots of… things. There’s more to sex than just, well, you know… and I don’t mean like consolation prize type stuff, I mean honestly some of them are my… But I mean. We don’t even have to do anything!’

Yuri grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him down into another kiss, just to shut him up.

‘Viktor,’ he asks, after a moment. ‘Are you trying to tell me there’s more kinds of sex than intercourse?’

‘Um.’ Viktor looks distinctly embarrassed to hear it put like that. It’s sort of adorable. Yuri wonders why he isn’t freaking out himself; his only available answer is that he’s too damn turned on to care. ‘Yes?’

‘Right. I know that.’

‘Good.’

‘I’m inexperienced, I’m not _dead_ ,’ Yuri says. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s marvelling that he’s here, making jokes about his own inexperience. ‘And I have access to the internet.’

‘Such a reliable source of sex education,’ Viktor says, a bit narky.

‘Working out okay for me so far,’ Yuri says, and nibbles gently on Viktor’s earlobe.

‘Point,’ Viktor concedes. It’s nice of him not to mention the several months of freaking out and dithering, Yuri thinks.

‘Okay, can we go back to making out now?’ 

Viktor gives up and kisses Yuri again, and there’s a suitable interlude of sloppy kissing and groping before Yuri gets his hand back into Viktor’s pants. 

They end up jerking off, tangled around each other and bumping hands and hips the whole time. It’s simultaneously ridiculous and fucking amazing.

* * *

‘Fuck,’ Viktor says, sprawled out on his bed in Russia. They’re still keeping separate rooms: Viktor made the bookings and Yuri didn’t ask why. He’s swinging wildly between planning to stay wrapped around Viktor for as much of their off-rink time as he can, and pathetically grateful he has the option of locking himself in the other room where Viktor won’t have to actually see how ridiculously bad Yuri is at getting any sleep during competition.

‘Oh, fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, Yuri.’

Yuri looks down at his hand, and the corresponding mess on Viktor’s stomach. He’s supposed to feel proud of this, he thinks. He did yesterday. It’s like they left China and Yuri collected a reality check at the border.

‘You don’t have to humour me,’ he grumbles.

Viktor throws an arm over his face. ‘If humouring you gets me laid in such excellent style, my darling, I will humour you as often as you like.’

Yuri doesn’t have anything to say to that. A small part of him wants to demand why Viktor isn’t asking for more from him, but most of him doesn’t really want to know the answer.

‘Hang on,’ Viktor says, sitting half-up. ‘What do you even mean, humour you?’

‘It’s only a handob,’ Yuri says, and the bile starts to spill out. ‘You don’t have to pretend it’s all amazing or…’

‘Only a…’ Viktor snaps his mouth shut suddenly. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Making a fool of myself, evidently,’ Yuri says, and swings around so his feet are off the bed. 

Viktor deals with this by tackling him around the waist so he can’t get away. 

‘I refuse to give you technique notes in bed,’ Viktor says, wriggling so his head is in Yuri’s lap. ‘Only weirdos like Chris assign scores, and even he does it to himself, not other people!’

Yuri tries hard not to think about how come Viktor knows what Chris does in bed at all. He tries to sort out what it is, exactly, that he’s freaking out about.

‘You should tell me if there’s something you want,’ Yuri says, abruptly. ‘Stop worrying about… pressuring me, or whatever it is.’

Viktor frowns up at him for a second. ‘Okay, I will.’ He pauses. ‘I’m not… It’s not bothering me, you know.’

‘What isn’t?’

Viktor opens his mouth, and closes it. Tries again. ‘I don’t know! I am not worried about anything! Except for the fact that I’ve done something to upset you and I don’t know what!’

‘I don’t know either,’ Yuri says, and collapses back onto the bed, hands over his face. ‘Can we forget I ever said anything?’

Viktor kisses his hipbone, and then reorients himself so he’s lying alongside Yuri now. ‘I _like_ handjobs,’ he says, snuggling into Yuri’s side. ‘In general, and yours in particular.’

‘Oh.’

Viktor pokes him gently in the middle. ‘I thought we had this conversation? Different types of sex, not necessarily better, and all that?’

Yuri blinks, and runs back through the past few days in his head. ‘I thought you were trying to tell me we didn’t have to do everything all at once.’

‘We don’t.’

‘Okay. But aren’t you... I know this isn’t what you’re used to,’ Yuri says. It’s about this point that he realises that he himself is still wearing his underwear, and has pretty much entirely lost interest in further proceedings. That’s _definitely_ not what Viktor’s used to. Or deserves. Fuck.

‘You’re nothing I’m used to,’ Viktor says. His voice is all warm, and despite himself, Yuri’s comforted. 

‘But if you’re thinking this is the first time a man’s got me naked and jerked me off without taking nearly enough of his own clothes off, think again.’ Viktor smirks, like that’s a good memory, and then catches Yuri’s hand to kiss the knuckles. ‘And with him I didn’t get to do it all again tomorrow, so, really, I call this a win.’

* * *

Back in Hasetsu, Yuri follows Viktor automatically to his room. The bed’s bigger, and it’s not as if the whole family don’t know they’re an item by now. 

‘I missed you,’ Viktor says, rolling over and wrapping arms around Yuri. ‘I know it was only a few days, but… I missed you.’

‘Yeah,’ Yuri says. He can’t quite form the words to say ‘I missed you too’, but he kisses Viktor long and slow, hoping that makes up for the lack of eloquence.

They end up with Yuri kneeling over Viktor’s thighs, watching the expression of frustrated desire on his face when Yuri skims his fingers gently up the curve of Viktor’s dick. There’s barely enough pressure to register, Yuri thinks, but it’s certainly doing something for Viktor.

‘You like this,’ Yuri says. He knows, but he wants confirmation. ‘You like me to tease you.’

‘Absolutely,’ Viktor says.

‘You’d like me to drag this out, wouldn’t you?’ Yuri leans down, so his breath ghosts over Viktor’s dick, but he’s not quite touching with his lips. ‘Make it last?’ The hitch in Viktor’s breath tells him he’s right about that, and he presses a quick kiss to the head of his cock in return. A quick kiss and a brief lick up the underside, nothing more.

‘You can tease me all you want,’ Viktor says, ‘any time you want.’

‘Any way I want?’ Yuri skims the fingers of his free hand over the jut of Viktor’s hip-bone.

‘Pretty much, yeah.’ 

‘Well then.’ He wraps his fingers loosely around Viktor’s dick, and digs the finger of his other hand into the hip as Viktor tries to push up into his grip. ‘I want to know what you want.’

‘What?’

‘I want you,’ a quick stroke from the base, ‘you to tell me about something you want.’ This is the next move, he thinks: he can play games with Viktor, he can pick the steps and make Viktor follow.

‘I want you to jerk me off,’ Viktor says, promptly and fervently.

‘Something else.’

‘Kiss me?’

Yuri leans down and places a kiss square over Viktor’s navel, which makes him squirm. ‘Something else. Not something for right now, just… something you’d like.’

‘Oh,’ Viktor says, sounding a little stunned. ‘Oh.’

‘Did you think about me while you were here and I was in Russia?’

‘Of course.’

‘Tell me what you thought of, then.’ Yuri stops moving his hand. 

‘I wanted to kiss you,’ Viktor says, and tilts his hips up as Yuri starts stroking again. ‘I just… I really like kissing you, have I mentioned that?’

‘Yes, but feel free to mention it again,’ Yuri says, grinning down at him. He stops moving when Viktor stops talking, and Viktor whines, tilting his head back on the pillows. ‘Tell me something else.’

‘Thought about kissing you all over,’ Viktor says. 

‘Very sappy,’ Yuri tells him, although, to be honest, it sounds delightful.

‘See if you call me sappy when I’ve got my tongue in your ass’

‘I will,’ Yuri promises. ‘I definitely, one hundred percent will.’ He leans down and sucks for a moment on the head of Viktor’s dick, ostensibly because that kind of admission deserve a reward, but mostly because he really wants to. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me something else.’ He tightens his grip with his fingers, just for a second. ‘Rules of this game, Viktor: I stop when you stop talking. You keep talking, and I,’ he licks again, ‘keep going.’

‘Oh, fuck,’ Viktor says. ‘You’re dangerous, Yuri Katsuki.’

**Author's Note:**

> I once made [a solemn promise to flag up experience/age/power disparity stuff](http://ineptshieldmaid.dreamwidth.org/189551.html). I really need to revise that post, I think, because Inept of 2009-10 really did not envision the sort of stuff I'd be turning out in Star Wars fandom this year. Anyway. When I first posted for YOI I flagged this up, because the coach/student thing was skating (ha ha) close to the line for me, but subsequently - especially in episodes 9 and 10 - I feel like canon has done a lot to re-balance the coach/student power balance, so I dropped the note.
> 
> This fic is not about that. And it's not about age differentials, either. What it *is* is explicitly a fic about sexual inexperience, and I'm dealing with that quite differently to how I used to deal with it back in the Narnia days. I can tell you *I* am fairly happy with it: this fic does not make me uncomfortable. (Some of my own fic does!) Your mileage may vary. 
> 
> Sometimes I try to provide background on what I think I'm doing, but I don't think I can do that here in a way that's useful to a reader rather than scattering my Issues (TM) all over the place, so. Caveat Lector.


End file.
